Ground Zero Earth a Zombie appocalypse
by gothik
Summary: The Prologue and first chapter of my Zombie Appocalypse novel in progress. When a Discontended wealthy scientist lets loose his own revenge on a government he long thought useless, the consequences for the UK and ultimatly the world are dire indeed. Set in and arond the Uk the survivors not only have to live, but try and find someplace to call home..
1. Chapter 1

GROUND ZERO EARTH

PROLOGUE

SOMEWHERE IN THE SOUTH EAST OF ENGLAND.

The labs were sterile, they had to be, for the experiments that went on down here were of the most utmost secrecy. Since the Government had cut the defence plan for the lands military across the board, one man had been so incensed at what he believed was the rape of his country, he had used all his wealth and his skill to create soldiers that could not be harmed by normal means. The perfect predators on the battlefield and the perfect defenders for their homeland.

He sought to return the British Isles to their place within the hierarchy of the worlds military might, and with this force at his command, he would take the power of the government from them. This was going to be the rebirth of a nation that he had loved and adored.

The plan was simple and for a bio-chemist as skilled as he was, it still took years to perfect. A drug administered to those strong of body and mind. A drug able to heal any wound, reknit bone and sinew, and should they suffer a mortal wound, allow their bodies to reanimate itself once more. With this drug perfected, then his dream of the perfect empire would be realised.

Security was tight here. It had to be and all the security personnel were ex special forces, or ex armed police officers. They took their orders from the CEO and the CEO alone, anyone that tried to get into Bunker 17 without a valid pass was detained until they had been identified.

Over the years stories of vanishing press officers had circulated which in turn had made Bunker 17 the bogeyman of the land that surrounded it. The local police could not investigate any thing, for they did not investigate rumours and, should any report make it to the Desk Sergeants desk, someone somewhere would make a phone call and it would vanish and all records erased.

From the outside world, Bunker 17 was the size of two World War II aircraft hangers, indeed to anyone passing by on the country lane, they would see people working on microlights or gliders, all under the guise of a private company.

The truth was far different, deep under the Hanger were a series of interlocking offices and labs and it was here that the enraged CEO was now pacing his office. Furious at the rejection from the MOD. They had laughed at him, told him that no such drug could exist and it was from the realms of the science fiction or the science mad. He had been told that there would be no more funding for his lunatic project.

He did not need their money, he had money of his own. He came from a wealthy family, a multi-millionaire. What he had needed, was for the generals and the admirals to see the potential in what he was offering. Twenty years of work thrown back in his face. He jerked his head up as his secretary came in and barked at her to get out.

Hurriedly the woman exited she had seen him like this once before and she was not prepared to be on the end of his dark mood. He locked his office door and crossed to the safe that sat snugly in his wall. Tapping in the code and letting it scan his retina, he took the phials that had been in there for three days. It looked like they were filled with water, but he knew better.

Tucking them into his pocket he unlocked his door and left his office. Taking a long walk to the maintenance vents he ignored the people around him, something he never did but, like his secretary they all knew that his dark mood was best left unchallenged. He walked into the air conditioning room and closed the door.

1.

Shaun Doyle moved aside as a group of young women made their way to the London Nightclub. They paused to take an appreciative look over the suited man, then giggling to themselves, they carried on in the direction they were walking. He allowed a coy smirk to cross his lips, paused to light a cigarette and walked on.

Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, the top collar undone and the second button undone, the tie halfway down his shirt. He was a well built man, brown hair that was going prematurely grey at the sides, his grey eyes were red lined from the few drinks he had had with his colleagues. They had just closed a year long investigation into gang that dealt in sex trafficking and slavery.

The resulting conviction had pleased them all, his DCI especially as it was her last case before she retired, but what he had seen, that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Just another one to add to the list of others that had been part of his life within the Flying Squad of Scotland Yard. The son of a former Metropolitan Police CID officer shot and killed in the line of duty, and a Russian Criminal Profiler Doyles life had been fairly idyllic when he was growing up.

He had a younger sister, who was only six when they got the visit from his fathers Commanding Officer, he had been killed by an armed robber whilst trying to stop a bank hiest. Doyle had been 12 and suddenly found himself catapulted from being a teenager trying to deal with the problems high school and adolescence gave him, to being the man of the house. His mother had been heartbroken and he had looked after them both, eventually the grief of loosing his father, his hero caused him to go through a rough patch at school.

Getting into fights, his studies suffering being rude to his peers. Eventually his mother had realised that she had put too much onto her eldest child and after an argument where he had sworn at her and almost broke everything in his room, he ended up crying in her arms. Professor Katya Roschenko Doyle had been guilt ridden that she had left her son to deal with this when in reality, she should have been there for him.

Doyle knuckled down and improved his school work, he joined the police and through sheer bloody mindedness worked his way up to CID and then a place on the much vaunted, famous and infamous Flying Squad, or Sweeney as it was more commonly known.

Married and divorced he had one daughter, who he adored and saw every weekend, unless he was working on a large case, at those times, he ex-wife was fairly understanding, she was a Barrister so she was well aware of the long hours the Sweeney worked.

There had been no one else involved in their divorce, it was simple really they had just drifted apart, but Nicky Anson-Doyle knew how much he loved his daughter and he always made the maintenance payments and took her out at weekends, had her for holidays and alternate Christmas holidays. If he was called into work, then his daughter Stasia would be with her grandmother and Auntie Natalie.

Long hours had led to shorter time at home and the drinking didn't help either. He wasn't an alcoholic but, after a particularly hard case, one that he would not discuss with his wife, it was natural for him to go for a drink with his lads and lasses. They understood for they had lived it for however long the investigation had been going on for.

He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the pub wall and hailed a cab. Getting in he gave his home address and rested his head back. Now all he wanted was a long hot bath and an Indian. Yeah that was an idea. He would get his flatmate to ring out and order an Indian maybe play a couple video games anything that would get the last year out of his mind.

He lived the other side of Westminster and as he watched the London night begin to come alive he allowed himself to be swallowed by the city. This was a city that was alive, he had been to other cities in the world but nothing had ever compared to London Town, although he had been born in Newcastle and came to London when he was just a teenager he had grown to love his adopted home city.

There was life and a history here that nothing could compare to. Sure there were areas that were violent and you didn't walk alone down but that was true of any city you went to. Didn't matter where you lived, hell he'd been to New York and Johannesburg on several occasions for work related matters, been shot in New York, the bullet wound on his shoulder a badge of honour and yet with all their underlying seediness, they were not a patch on London.

As the Cab headed away from Shaftesbury Avenue he mentally mapped the areas he knew were controlled by the gangsters. Porn, drugs, funny money, all of it moved through their hands. That was why he loved his job, nothing was ever the same twice. The Irish Gangs had joined forces with the London bosses to take down the Slovak gangs, sometimes the Slovaks and the Russians teamed up with the home bred bosses to take on the Triads or Yakuzza, all in all, their gangland culture was messy and violent. Every XXX shop he passed had some big name attached to it. No matter how many time he and his team had taken them down, someone rose to take their place.

He reached into his pocket as his phone began to rang and glanced at the screen, he answered it. "Hello sweetheart,"

"Are you home yet Daddy?"

He turned his attention to the phone call, the one young lady in his life that meant more to him than life itself. He settled back in his seat and listened as his daughter told him all about her day at school.

Doyle woke up and after laying in his bed for several moments he swung his legs out of bed, pulled his boxers on and walked from his room into the bathroom. When he came out he walked into the front room to see his flatmate Simon Mortimer peering out the window.

"Something wrong?" he asked with a sleep filled voice "or you perving at the guy across the road again"

"You need to see this Shaun"

Doyle rolled his eyes, he had no wish to look at any male eye candy, that was Simon's thing, not his. "Unless she's a red head, not interested mate"

Mortimer glanced at his friend and arched an eyebrow "You really need to see this."

Hearing the urgency in his voice Doyle forgoes the idea of coffee for the moment and joined his friend at the window. He looked out to see...nothing, or at least nothing he could see as anything unusual.

All he could see were cars parked up, some a little haphazard sure, but there had been a party going on at one of the other apartments last night and that was nothing unusual. The Summer brought out the madness that made BBQ's turn into all night raves.

"Maybe that Tikka last night had something in it that's playing with your mind"

Doyle went and made himself a coffee and turned the TV on. The lead story seemed to be some explosion in Kent that had decimated two old war hangers. He sipped his coffee and lit a cigarette, flicking through the channels until he got to the sports news and waited to see if his beloved Newcastle FC had won their match last night

He scowled and glanced at his friend. Simon was a handsome man, not as well built as Doyle and not from the same social circle, as his ex wife put it. Mortimer's father was a prominent businessman, whose family dealt with military as well as civilian contracts. One of the biggest mega-corporations London had.

He was the same age as Doyle with black hair and grey eyes and he was a member of Special Branch. Despite their differing social backgrounds they had worked on several cases together, departmental rivalry aside they actually hit it off. It didn't bother Doyle that Mortimer was gay, if anything it made date night interesting, and Mortimer adored Doyles daughter.

When Doyles divorce had come through Mortimer gave him a set of keys to his apartment in Westminster and told him to move in. it was central to their work locations and Mortimer didn't want a man he considered his best friend to get swallowed by the housing market. Doyle liked the man a lot. He was a regular guy who just happened to be gay, not that he allowed that to interfere in his work, he was one of the best undercover officers in the Special Branch.

Never allowed his personal life to interfere with his work life and kept it strictly private, in his line of work he had to. His family however were not happy about his lifestyle choices and had long ago cut him off. Mortimer didn't care, Doyles mother and sister had adopted him into their lives. In fact he often called Professor Doyle mum.

"So what caught your attention then?" Doyle asked sitting on the big leather armchair that was his comfort seat.

Mortimer had a serious expression on his face and shook his head "Maybe your right Shaun, thought I saw something, but its too quiet and for a Saturday morning at this time, that's kinda weird wouldn't you say?"

Doyle glanced at his watch and shrugged "Judging by that party at Stella's last night, I think they are all sleeping it off. Speaking of which I thought you would have gone to that one, seeing as Stella fancies your arse"

"He's too queenly for me" Mortimer moved away from the window "Are we having the delightful little Princess today?"

"Not today, she's at Nicky's parents for the weekend," Doyle stretched "but she's on holiday from school next week, I got her from Thursday"

"Good, I went suit shopping and saw this delightful outfit for her so brought it."

He reached into a bag and pulled out an outfit for a ten year old. Pink and white. Doyle shook his head "No wonder Nicky likes you" He muttered "But I am sure Stasia will want to wear it, she always wears what you buy her."

Mortimer grinned and set it back in the bag "I grew up with a sister who thinks she is the next Stella McCartney, learnt to know what would and what wouldn't go right and that little dress screamed princess at me"

"And you say you are not a Queen" Doyle chuckled "having a gay guy as a flatmate is kinda cool."

"Yes but having one as your best friend...even better" Mortimer sat down and flicked back to the news channel "Newcastle lost last night, beaten by city 3 nil"

"Great" Doyle snorted "that's twenty quid I owe Daniels, he's going to crow about that one the Mancunian git"

They watched as the Sky News team moved back to the main story. The woman reporting was a fair distance from the fire, and as she spoke they saw bodies being brought from the burning remains. As she went onto explain that the authorities believed that the fire had been caused by a spark from a welder igniting the aviation fuel both men winced.

They could see the black body bags lined up and despite their own horror visions in their line of work, neither man liked the sight of burnt bodies, the stench was something that was hard to get out of their clothes and their skin.

Mortimer picked his mobile up "Mortimer...yes sir, he's right here sir...yes sir...I'll tell him...yes sir we'll be there." Mortimer turned his phone off and glanced at his friend "We are wanted there" he pointed at the screen.

"Huh?" Doyle arched an eyebrow.

"Seems the Sweeney and Branch are working together on this, something about a hidden area that the press haven't and cannot see."

"Err we don't do that shit that's your department."

"Not when one of the bodies pulled out of that mess happens to be Frederick Howard."

"I was investigating him last year for allegedly creating illegal drugs but got a phone call from one of your governors telling me to leave it alone"

"Yeah well, now my Geordie brother you are being told to work with us, come direct from your governor too. Especially when they think he set it off deliberately."

"Fuck" Doyle finished his coffee and dived into the shower.

Mortimer got up and glanced out the window again to see a man dressed like something from a drag night stagger out of their neighbours house and make his way down the street. Mortimer shrugged, probably still drunk, after all that Drag Queens parties were known to go on for a few days. He walked up the small spiral staircase to his room and shut the door, thinking nothing more off it.


	2. Chapter 2

1.

Shaun Doyle moved aside as a group of young women made their way to the London Nightclub. They paused to take an appreciative look over the suited man, then giggling to themselves, they carried on in the direction they were walking. He allowed a coy smirk to cross his lips, paused to light a cigarette and walked on.

Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, the top collar undone and the second button undone, the tie halfway down his shirt. He was a well built man, brown hair that was going prematurely grey at the sides, his grey eyes were red lined from the few drinks he had had with his colleagues. They had just closed a year long investigation into gang that dealt in sex trafficking and slavery.

The resulting conviction had pleased them all, his DCI especially as it was her last case before she retired, but what he had seen, that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Just another one to add to the list of others that had been part of his life within the Flying Squad of Scotland Yard. The son of a former Metropolitan Police CID officer shot and killed in the line of duty, and a Russian Criminal Profiler Doyles life had been fairly idyllic when he was growing up.

He had a younger sister, who was only six when they got the visit from his fathers Commanding Officer, he had been killed by an armed robber whilst trying to stop a bank hiest. Doyle had been 12 and suddenly found himself catapulted from being a teenager trying to deal with the problems high school and adolescence gave him, to being the man of the house. His mother had been heartbroken and he had looked after them both, eventually the grief of loosing his father, his hero caused him to go through a rough patch at school.

Getting into fights, his studies suffering being rude to his peers. Eventually his mother had realised that she had put too much onto her eldest child and after an argument where he had sworn at her and almost broke everything in his room, he ended up crying in her arms. Professor Katya Roschenko Doyle had been guilt ridden that she had left her son to deal with this when in reality, she should have been there for him.

Doyle knuckled down and improved his school work, he joined the police and through sheer bloody mindedness worked his way up to CID and then a place on the much vaunted, famous and infamous Flying Squad, or Sweeney as it was more commonly known.

Married and divorced he had one daughter, who he adored and saw every weekend, unless he was working on a large case, at those times, he ex-wife was fairly understanding, she was a Barrister so she was well aware of the long hours the Sweeney worked.

There had been no one else involved in their divorce, it was simple really they had just drifted apart, but Nicky Anson-Doyle knew how much he loved his daughter and he always made the maintenance payments and took her out at weekends, had her for holidays and alternate Christmas holidays. If he was called into work, then his daughter Stasia would be with her grandmother and Auntie Natalie.

Long hours had led to shorter time at home and the drinking didn't help either. He wasn't an alcoholic but, after a particularly hard case, one that he would not discuss with his wife, it was natural for him to go for a drink with his lads and lasses. They understood for they had lived it for however long the investigation had been going on for.

He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the pub wall and hailed a cab. Getting in he gave his home address and rested his head back. Now all he wanted was a long hot bath and an Indian. Yeah that was an idea. He would get his flatmate to ring out and order an Indian maybe play a couple video games anything that would get the last year out of his mind.

He lived the other side of Westminster and, as he watched the London night begin to come alive, he allowed himself to be swallowed by the city. This was a city that was alive, he had been to other cities in the world but nothing had ever compared to London Town, although he had been born in Newcastle and came to London when he was just a teenager he had grown to love his adopted home city.

There was life and a history here that nothing could compare to. Sure there were areas that were violent and you didn't walk alone down but that was true of any city you went to. Didn't matter where you lived, hell he'd been to New York and Johannesburg on several occasions for work related matters, been shot in New York, the bullet wound on his shoulder a badge of honour and yet with all their underlying seediness, they were not a patch on London.

As the Cab headed away from Shaftesbury Avenue he mentally mapped the areas he knew were controlled by the gangsters. Porn, drugs, funny money, all of it moved through their hands. That was why he loved his job, nothing was ever the same twice. The Irish Gangs had joined forces with the London bosses to take down the Slovak gangs, sometimes the Slovaks and the Russians teamed up with the home bred bosses to take on the Triads or Yakuzza, all in all, their gangland culture was messy and violent. Every XXX shop he passed had some big name attached to it. No matter how many times he and his team had taken them down, someone rose to take their place.

He reached into his pocket as his phone began to rang and glanced at the screen, he answered it. "Hello sweetheart,"

"Are you home yet Daddy?"

He turned his attention to the phone call, the one young lady in his life that meant more to him than life itself. He settled back in his seat and listened as his daughter told him all about her day at school.

Doyle woke up and after laying in his bed for several moments he swung his legs out of bed, pulled his boxers on and walked from his room into the bathroom. When he came out he walked into the front room to see his flatmate Simon Mortimer peering out the window.

"Something wrong?" he asked with a sleep filled voice "or you perving at the guy across the road again"

"You need to see this Shaun"

Doyle rolled his eyes, he had no wish to look at any male eye candy, that was Simon's thing, not his. "Unless she's a red head, not interested mate"

Mortimer glanced at his friend and arched an eyebrow "You really need to see this."

Hearing the urgency in his voice Doyle forgoes the idea of coffee for the moment and joined his friend at the window. He looked out to see...nothing, or at least nothing he could see as anything unusual.

All he could see were cars parked up, some a little haphazard sure, but there had been a party going on at one of the other apartments last night and that was nothing unusual. The Summer brought out the madness that made BBQ's turn into all night raves.

"Maybe that Tikka last night had something in it that's playing with your mind"

Doyle went and made himself a coffee and turned the TV on. The lead story seemed to be some explosion in Kent that had decimated two old war hangers. He sipped his coffee and lit a cigarette, flicking through the channels until he got to the sports news and waited to see if his beloved Newcastle FC had won their match last night

He scowled and glanced at his friend. Simon was a handsome man, not as well built as Doyle and not from the same social circle, as his ex wife put it. Mortimer's father was a prominent businessman, whose family dealt with military as well as civilian contracts. One of the biggest mega-corporations London had.

He was the same age as Doyle with black hair and grey eyes and he was a member of Special Branch. Despite their differing social backgrounds they had worked on several cases together, departmental rivalry aside they actually hit it off. It didn't bother Doyle that Mortimer was gay, if anything it made date night interesting, and Mortimer adored Doyles daughter.

When Doyles divorce had come through Mortimer gave him a set of keys to his apartment in Westminster and told him to move in. it was central to their work locations and Mortimer didn't want a man he considered his best friend to get swallowed by the housing market. Doyle liked the man a lot. He was a regular guy who just happened to be gay, not that he allowed that to interfere in his work, he was one of the best undercover officers in the Special Branch.

Never allowed his personal life to interfere with his work life and kept it strictly private, in his line of work he had to. His family however were not happy about his lifestyle choices and had long ago cut him off. Mortimer didn't care, Doyles mother and sister had adopted him into their lives. In fact he often called Professor Doyle mum.

"So what caught your attention then?" Doyle asked sitting on the big leather armchair that was his comfort seat.

Mortimer had a serious expression on his face and shook his head "Maybe your right Shaun, thought I saw something, but its too quiet and for a Saturday morning at this time, that's kinda weird wouldn't you say?"

Doyle glanced at his watch and shrugged "Judging by that party at Stella's last night, I think they are all sleeping it off. Speaking of which I thought you would have gone to that one, seeing as Stella fancies your arse"

"He's too queenly for me" Mortimer moved away from the window "Are we having the delightful little Princess today?"

"Not today, she's at Nicky's parents for the weekend," Doyle stretched "but she's on holiday from school next week, I got her from Thursday"

"Good, I went suit shopping and saw this delightful outfit for her so brought it."

He reached into a bag and pulled out an outfit for a ten year old. Pink and white. Doyle shook his head "No wonder Nicky likes you" He muttered "But I am sure Stasia will want to wear it, she always wears what you buy her."

Mortimer grinned and set it back in the bag "I grew up with a sister who thinks she is the next Stella McCartney, learnt to know what would and what wouldn't go right and that little dress screamed princess at me"

"And you say you are not a Queen" Doyle chuckled "having a gay guy as a flatmate is kinda cool."

"Yes but having one as your best friend...even better" Mortimer sat down and flicked back to the news channel "Newcastle lost last night, beaten by city 3 nil"

"Great" Doyle snorted "that's twenty quid I owe Daniels, he's going to crow about that one the Mancunian git"

They watched as the Sky News team moved back to the main story. The woman reporting was a fair distance from the fire, and as she spoke they saw bodies being brought from the burning remains. As she went onto explain that the authorities believed that the fire had been caused by a spark from a welder igniting the aviation fuel both men winced.

They could see the black body bags lined up and despite their own horror visions in their line of work, neither man liked the sight of burnt bodies, the stench was something that was hard to get out of their clothes and their skin.

Mortimer picked his mobile up "Mortimer...yes sir, he's right here sir...yes sir...I'll tell him...yes sir we'll be there." Mortimer turned his phone off and glanced at his friend "We are wanted there" he pointed at the screen.

"Huh?" Doyle arched an eyebrow.

"Seems the Sweeney and Branch are working together on this, something about a hidden area that the press haven't and cannot see."

"Err we don't do that shit that's your department."

"Not when one of the bodies pulled out of that mess happens to be Frederick Howard."

"I was investigating him last year for allegedly creating illegal drugs but got a phone call from one of your governors telling me to leave it alone"

"Yeah well, now my Geordie brother you are being told to work with us, come direct from your governor too. Especially when they think he set it off deliberately."

"Fuck" Doyle finished his coffee and dived into the shower.

Mortimer got up and glanced out the window again to see a man dressed like something from a drag night stagger out of their neighbours house and make his way down the street. Mortimer shrugged, probably still drunk, after all that Drag Queens parties were known to go on for a few days. He walked up the small spiral staircase to his room and shut the door, thinking nothing more off it.


	3. Chapter 3

St. Johns Hospital was not a large hospital but it coped with the everyday emergencies that passed through its doors. It was an old building, a little like something out of the old Carry on movie that had, and in some cases still had, audiences laughing at the antics of staff and patients alike. Built in the 1940's it had undergone some changes over the years to bring it up to modern standards, but it still kept its charm and dignity.

During the War it was used as a hospital catering for the overflow of wounded soldiers, sailors and airmen that would come in through RAF Hawkinge or from HMS Pembroke, the main hospitals in Dover and Folkestone unable to cope with all the wounded would send them to St Johns. After the war it was kept open and now served the town of Arnhold. A populace of around five thousand situated between Folkestone and Dover.

Throughout its modest history, it had served its community well and tonight was no different. With the disaster at Bunker 17 they were preparing the burns unit and casualty department was on standby. Every doctor had been called in and every member of the nursing staff were on overtime, surgeons were on standby. When the Ambulances rolled in it was going to be a busy night, correction a few busy nights. They would also be sending patients to Ashford and Dover, they were bigger and better equipped, but they would deal with whomever came through their doors and give them the care they deserved.

Doctor Bridget Van Gelder was one of the doctors called in, and now as she made her way across the car park, she could see the glow in the sky from the burning hangers. She shook her head, silently commending the souls of the dead to their respective faiths. She had just got in the shower when the call came for her to come in. Now an hour later she was here. Walking to the reception desk she could see a few people in for other reasons, the receptionist waved and handed her some messages. One from her team asking her to head straight to Casualty where they would meet her, and the other was from Daryl, telling her that she would ring later.

Bridget smiled a little, Daryl was not at home when the call had come in, she didn't know where she was to be honest, there was a lot about her partners work that she didn't know the exact details of. She knew who she worked for but that was it, and sometimes that was all she wanted to know. Born and raised in Amsterdam, Bridget's parents were both in the medical profession. Her father had been a surgeon and her mother had been a pharmacist. So when she went into the medical trade it was to be expected, except she did her intern-ship in England, at Kings College Hospital in London to be exact. She was a tall striking woman with dark brown hair and honey coloured eyes. Her bedside manner made her one of the more popular doctors on staff. Many of the male patients had commented that they adored her accent, it had softened over the years that she had spent in England but, mixed with her Dutch accent, her partner had told her it had a certain allure about it.

Glancing around the waiting room she asked the receptionist, a young girl no older than 19 maybe 20 at a push how long before they were expecting any arrivals from Bunker 17.

"Any time now Doctor Van Gelder, the fire crews reported the fires as out, first casualties are on the way here, the more serious cases are headed for Ashford and Dover by air ambulance"

Bridget nodded and made her way through to the Casualty department, her team already gathering.

"Morning all" she smiled quickly "Right, lets go over the procedures for today, its going to be a long one people and the less stressful we try and make it, the easier our jobs will be."

The two men could smell the disaster area long before they actually got there and as Doyle turned his Audi onto the private road that would take them to the smouldering ruins, the smell only got worse.

Burnt wood mixed with the stink of charred human flesh made it smell like some sort of twisted BBQ. When they pulled up they both stared at the wreckage before them, the wood around the burnt out metal shells had incinerated such was the force and sheer power of the heat coming from the burning bunkers, where once they were green, they were now a charred black and covered in foam.

As they made their way to the accident command post, they saw the body bags, twenty so far but that was not to say there would be more. Injured were groaning and crying, being allocated to the appropriate ambulance.

Doyle shook his head as he saw the security men standing around, glaring at the uniformed police. Nowadays private security firms acted like they were the ones in charge. Mortimer heaved a sigh as he pointed a couple of the men out. Regis and Thomas, former SO19 officers.

"They were suspended after that shoot out in Bermondsey" Doyle scowled "Pair of flaming nutters, should have been given a stretch at Her Majesty's pleasure"

"If the man that ran this was hiring the likes of them, makes the stories of the press disappearances all that more credible." Mortimer shook his head as he put the pieces together "You can work out what happened when the report hit the local bobbies desk can't you. One of them went there and it was all hushed up."

"I got a real bad feeling about all this" Doyle heaved a heavy sigh.

One of those security men stopped before the two men and folded his arms "No press"

Doyle and Mortimer looked at each other bemused and then showed their ID's "Move aside Kong," Doyle remarked "Before I move you aside"

"He will you know. Now be a good boy and go back to the line over there." Mortimer added.

"I know you" The large Security guard peered at Mortimer "You're the pansy Special Branch guy, this place is too delicate for the likes of you"

"Oh how lovely, he's thinking of me Shaun" Mortimer clapped his hands together and jumped up and down on the spot "I must get his phone number"

"Really?" Doyle shrugged "Why would you want his number?"

"So I can pass it one to the boys in blue when they come to investigate the idiot for unsolved disappearances around here"

The security man, by the name of Farmer judging by his badge snarled. Mortimer drove his fist into his stomach and hit him with his knee under the man's chin, putting him on the floor. He crouched down and studied Farmer.

"Looks like the Pansy just put you on your arse idiot. Don't ever think you can intimidate me boy I've met and dealt with harder dicks then you. Sleep it off, where you are going you will need it." He stood up as two police officers came over, saw the two plain clothes men's ID's, "Take this idiot to the cooler lads, he thought he could intimidate us,"

"Yeah they all been pushing it sir" One of the officers sighed "Saying that now the fire is out we have no jurisdiction here, it belongs to Silicone Technologies"

Mortimer arched an eyebrow "Well get him out of here. By the time this night is over they are all going to be looking for new jobs, or be in court one way or the other. This place is dead."

Doyle smirked and walked with his friend "You know the name of the company?"

"Yeah, the man that started it used to work for my father, was determined to make the British Isles military the best in the world"

"Admirable goal" Doyle mused "Our lads and lasses in the services had a bum deal the last few years."

"Hmm, dad thought it was a good idea at first, I mean his corporation has provided troops with new up to date armour and arms, making sure that every serving front line warrior got one."

"So, what happened then?" Doyle glanced at the firemen. Those were the real heroes in his opinion, day in and day out they attended things like this and they got no real thanks for it.

"He started going on about creating a powerful super solider, you know like Captain America. I don't know the details but dad let him go. Said he was a madman. Desmond Thornton was a brilliant bio-chemist, top of his field in this country. If this is all his then we are going to be needing hazard gear."

They made their way towards a group of officers arguing loudly. Doyle recognised his CO, DCI Helen Sherringham, rubbing her brow and looking to all intense and purposes like she wanted to murder someone, and judging by the oaf in the suit with a name badge and ID badge attached to his suit upper pocket who was getting her dark looks that was him. Beside her stood a tall man in a suit with his arms folded across his chest. That was Mortimer's CO, DCI Raymond Trescot. And there was another woman who both men knew to be the head of MI5's Counter Terrorist Unit Commander Jennifer Garrett. She was the one arguing with the other Suit at the moment.

A woman with short black hair, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt glanced over her shoulder at their approach and smiled warmly. They stopped next to her and hugged her quickly. She motioned with her head to the group.

"The prat in black is the head of Silicone Technologies security and he is barking about allowing us into their labs. Says that as this is private land we have no jurisdiction here. Helen pointed out that it was illegal for private security firms, or any security firms to carry arms in this country so they had the right to go on, Ray backed her up, then Dawson there, the suit threatened to make a call to the PM's office to which my gaffer handed him a phone and said go ahead." She gave a lopsided grin "The Sweeney, Special Branch and MI5 CTU all working in harmony, who would have thought it?"

Doyle sniggered a little. "Seeing as Special Branch is the arresting side of MI5 I would agree with that."

Daryl Mach chuckled and taking a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, she offered both men one and lit one for herself. She was a tall woman with a horrendous scar down the left side of her face. She walked with a slight limp but despite all that, she was still a striking presence. She was the daughter of a former British army officer and German advertising manager. Born on a British Army garrison at Hohne in the Lower Saxony, she was raised with both British values and German values and a love for both her countries. When she returned to England as a teenager she had a strong German Accent, which over the years had mellowed a little, although when she got annoyed, it tended to strengthen.

She had been friends with Doyle for many years, and was friends with Mortimer through their work together. Her parents had died several years ago but she had already walked her own path long before that. A stint in the Royal Naval Provost led to three years in Naval Intelligence and eventually called by MI5. During her first year as an overseas agent she was involved in a helicopter crash. She was in a medically induced coma for six weeks before she was brought out of it.

Transferred to Kings College in London she met Bridget Van Gelder. The Doctor at first helped her deal with her injuries and then the two became intimate after Daryl was released. The crash had left her with the scar and the limp but it also left her with a fear of flying, so whenever she had to go to the continent to liaise with other Counter Terrorist Units she went via Eurostar or Ferry.

She was just leaving the office when she was summoned here, and had been here for over an hour before Doyle and Mortimer turned up. Putting her cigarette out she motioned with her head and the trio made their way over to the arguing officers. To be met by Sherringham as they drew closer and led to one side.

"Sorry Guv" Doyle apologised to DCI Sherringham "Traffic was a little harsh coming out of Dartford"

"Its fine Sergeant" She sighed "Mortimer, Mach" She greeted the other two cordially "I want you three suited up and in there. The Hazmats are ready for you over by the main Fire Engine. Chief Pearson will guide you in their use."

"if I may ask Guv" Doyle scratched his nose "Why all three of us, hardly our jurisdiction"

"You been working on an illegal medical drugs ring Shaun, Simon knows the head of this company and Daryl is here to see if anything here has been used in any recent terrorist attacks. All three of us were investigating the same man for different reasons"

"Drugs squad not here then?"

"Shaun, I wouldn't let those idiots here even if it were. This is outs and theirs, not the drugs squad. Go on and if any of those mini wannabes get in your way the local officers are going to arrest them. At the moment the Chief is saying it was set off deliberately from the limited area he has investigated. I want to know if that's a true observation Shaun, cause if it is then I am going to hang draw and quarter these jackboots before their feet touch the ground.

We are also expecting there to be more bodies so, be careful. I could have sent one of the others but after last night I expect most of them will be too drunk still. You were drunk but it doesn't seem to affect you in the same way, and if you were having a weekend with the princess I apologise now"

"Nah, she's with her other grandparents" Doyle grinned. His daughter was always a welcome sight at their offices. She had extended aunts and uncles, even if she would never really know who they were, they looked after their own in the Sweeney that was for certain.

"Right well go on then, and leave no area unturned, I want a full report by the days end. Then I might be able to get some sleep"

"Bet you'll be glad to retire Ma'am" Daryl quietly said.

"Honestly Daryl, they won't let me retire until this is sorted" She sighed and headed back to the little war zone she had escaped from.


	4. Chapter 4

3.

The casualty department was full to bursting, those that had minor injuries and burns were being treated in cubicles, those who were more serious were sent to other parts of casualty to be triaged appropriately.

By noon it was starting to slow a little, but there were more on route, for now the nurses and doctors had breathing space. Bridget walked out to the reception desk and grinning took the delivery of coffee and sandwiches that had just arrived, leaving the receptionists theirs, she walked back to the nurses station and handed them out.

"Make the most of this people, be a while before we get to go home." She urged, getting thanked most gratefully by the nurses and the doctors.

"How many dead were there?" One nurse asked "at the scene I mean"

Bridget shrugged a little "One of the paramedics said twenty so far."

"Better add five more to that Doc, two women and three men, died in theatre" A sister sat down and took the sandwich that Bridget gave her "I guess you and Daryl were looking forward to a nice weekend?"

"We were going to go Harry Potter World. I love the books, Daryl not so much but she wanted to go see it anyway." Bridget sat herself down and picked her coffee up "Well we have another six ambulances on route but it seems to be quietening down."

"i don't get it, Bunker 17 has microlights and gliders, not that many staff." one of the Nurses frowned.

"Private Customers" A male staff nurse told her "They were having an open day"

"Oh god, spectators too I imagine" The nurse shook her head "I won't be sleeping tonight"

"Where are the bodies going?" the Sister asked.

"We have a coroner coming in from Canterbury with a team" Bridget replied "So the morgue is off limits for the next few days. Apparently there are going to be hazard conditions applied, so no one is to go across there under any circumstances unless accompanied by one of their staff and in the proper bio hazard gear"

They all nodded as she ran through the rest of the days itinerary and told them what had to be done before shift change. Bridget herself would check on the patients already on the wards before she went home, but, she had already mentally promised herself a large Gin and Tonic and a nice hot bath.

The Torches cut through the Stygian darkness like a knife through butter, but even the power of their suit lights and their torch lights couldn't penetrate any further than the end of the hallway they were in. The trio were all in bulky white Hazmat suits, no one knew what chemicals had been released in the explosion so no one was taking any chances.

They felt the glass crush under their feet, the shards of glass that hadn't be fused with the floor due to the intense heat. They had to make their way down four flights of steps and across a bridge, then down another three flights of steps before they even entered the main reception of the building. Doyle was amazed at the underground maze. He didn't think anything like this existed here.

"Churchill and his cabinet were stationed at Dover castle on occasions, especially for the D-Day and Normandy landings" Mortimer explained "This was added as a back up facility should the Germans actually succeed in their conquest of Britain. It would be used as a secret base from which the government would plan their mission to take back the country."

"They kept it well hidden" Doyle remarked as he shone the torch upwards.

"Yeah they did" Mortimer agreed "So well hidden its not in any public documents, only the higher echelons of the Cabinet know about this."

"So how did Thornton know about it?" Daryl wanted to know.

"My family built them" Mortimer replied "and he came across the maps for them, when he left the company he took all the maps and the deeds with him and claimed it for himself. My father agreed, before he cut him loose for his mad cap ideas."

They finally made it into the main reception area and their suits beeped green, all clear. As a precaution, Daryl waved an air meter around, if anything was harmful, it would show up, all clear. With a very happy sigh of relief Doyle removed his suit as did the other two. They were bulky and difficult to move around in, he felt like he was in one of those old fashioned deep-sea diving suits, so he was happy to be out of it.

They shone their torches around again just as the back up generator kicked in and light flooded the shattered lobby. There was a giant hole in the floor that rose up and through the ceiling. Mortimer crouched down and inspected the scorch marks. "Well the explosion came up and out" he sat on his haunches and pointed upwards. "It kept going up until it hit the Hangers then bang, oxygen met it and it was like a giant bomb going off." He shook his head "anyone caught in the initial blast here and up there, be nothing left of them. Poor bastards"

"What in gods name were they using down here to cause all this?" Daryl wanted to know. Mortimer shrugged but said nothing.

They moved on, desks had been overturned but the force of the explosion, bodies burnt and almost unrecognisable lay across the floor. Some at odd angles, others where they had landed. Daryl stopped by the main doors to see two men impaled against the walls, steel legs protruding from their chests. She shook her head, cursed in German and followed her friends down the corridor.

They came to the main offices, or what they assumed was the main office. They also assumed that this would have been where the cabinet would have met, should the worst have ever occurred and Britain had become a member of the Nazi state.

Doyle stopped and picked up some papers. He was no scientist and most of what he was reading were algorithms and scientific formula, all of which were double Dutch to him. Mortimer glanced over his shoulder and excusing himself took the papers and read through them.

"This doesn't make sense" he muttered.

"Not telling me anything I don't already know" Doyle agreed and picked up a diary. He flicked through it "Says here he had a meeting with the MOD and the Defence Minister. I am guessing it didn't go well"

"Oh?" Daryl enquired covering another body with a jacket that was laying on the floor, a woman in her mid to late thirties, her neck at an impossible angle and her left leg shorn off from the blast. She was already going to have trouble sleeping tonight, she knew that much.

"Yeah the words "Fucking Morons have no idea what they have turned down" kind of gives that away." He turned a chair the right way up and winced a little as he saw the woman's leg laying under the table. "Oak, no wonder it stayed where it was" he pulled the chair forward and set the diary down, flicking through it.

"What doesn't make sense Si?" Daryl asked,

" He told my father that he had plans to make a real life super soldier, one that even if a mortal wound took their lives, they would be reanimated. Christ this man was a loony tune, I have never seen anything like this before."

"Is something like that even possible?" Doyle asked in disgust. Like his friends in the room with him, they saw no reason on this earth to bring a dead man or woman back to life, it went against every ethic they believed in, and pretty much what decent people believed in.

"If it was I suspect the Americans and Russians would have it by now" Mortimer tossed the papers onto the desk in disgust. "Even their black ops don't desecrate the dead."

"Well lets have a look round, see if we can't find the body and whatever he was making. I really don't want to be here any longer than I need to be" Daryl shivered a little "This place is giving me the creeps."

"Thought you liked horror movies?" Doyle grinned.

"Yeah that's a movie, not a real life mad scientists chamber" Daryl glanced at the body she had covered over. She wondered if the woman had a husband, a partner, children maybe parents or siblings. If she did then there were going to be some very upset people later today.

As they moved off, they didn't see the women's hand move.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

The Morgue at the hospital had calmed a lot since the initial intake some two weeks ago now. The attendants were now resuming normal duties, the dead from the Hanger had been taken away to other facilities and aside from three deaths that had occurred after the catastrophe at the Hanger, the Mortuary was back to normal.

One of the bodies, waiting for an autopsy moved. The hands twitched and shook as the whole body began to re-animate and return to life. One by one, all three began to move and eventually sat up, two of which had the Y cuts plain on their chests, two men and one woman, the woman being the one who had yet to be autopsied on.

They looked around and climbed off the bed. The one thing they craved they needed to find...food, fresh food.

Bridget wandered the wards and checked on her patients. She had spent a lot of time at the hospital of late, She had not seen Daryl since the accident but, they had spoken and her lover sounded tired. She was not sure what the MI5 woman had been doing, sometimes it was best not to know, but she was still working with Shaun and Simon.

She stopped by the nurses station on Damien Ward and picked up the new arrivals notes. "Five new admissions?"

"Yes Doctor Van Gelder" The male nurse answered "Sent up from casualty an hour ago. Seems they have bite marks"

"Bites? What as in dog bites?" Bridget put her glasses on and looked at the details.

The young man let her read the notes. They would explain it all, five patients admitted all with bites on their arms or legs, but these weren't dog bites, they were human bites. She looked at the Nurse "Humans did this? Was there an outbreak of madness or something?" 

He shrugged and getting up took her to where they were. Three men, a woman and a child. Bridget curled her lip in disgust as the child looked like she had been mauled by a Bull Terrier of some description. Deep bites into one side of her face.

"This is Dora and that's her mother Gertrude and her father Malcolm." The Nurse explained, "Her uncle Frederick and her grandfather Jakob."

"Same family...so was this a domestic violence situation that got out of hand or something?" She asked studying each patient. They had all been sedated and were hardly aware of the Dutch woman as she inspected each of them.

"I thought they were auditioning for some horror movie until I realised it was real" He shrugged "The Police said the Grandfather had been working at the Hanger site. He had been one of the Firemen there. The Police report said that Neighbours had always seen him as a helpful man, one to aid them when they needed it. Yet he went berserk this afternoon when he came home for no reason"

Bridget stepped back and rubbed her jaw "Tox screens?"

"Being run now,"

"Why are they not in Isolation ward?" She wanted to know.

"Short staffed a bit today, some of the staff have come down with this flu bug"

"Get them moved into Isolation. Until we know what caused this to happen" She motioned at them "I want them kept away from the other patients" She took her phone from her pocket as it began to vibrate "Now" She told him and walked back to the station and off the ward answering her phone as she did "Hey sweetie how's it going?"

Daryl set her phone down and looked out the MacDonalds' window. She hated being away from Bridget, especially when she saw no reason for her to be away from home for this period of time. Two weeks since the explosion and once herself, Doyle and Mortimer had returned from their sweep of the site, with what little they had found, a clean up crew went in and they returned home. With Bridget having been at the hospital all night Daryl had stayed at the boys apartment.

She could not escape the eerie feeling that there was something not right about the whole place. It just...smelt wrong. She sat back as Doyle and Mortimer came over with trays and set their food down and coffees. If Daryl looked like she hadn't slept much, these two looked worse.

They had all been assigned to investigating the backgrounds of all the employees at Bunker 17 and none of them had really slept much, as a result both men had growths on their faces that had started to become beards.

Shaun rubbed his eyes and took the top off the coffee and sipped it. Daryl took her food from his tray and picked a fry up and popped it into her mouth. Simon took his IPAD from his bag but Shaun stopped him.

"Come on man leave it huh?" Doyle pleaded "Just wanna eat and maybe get some zzz's before we are back on the clock." Mortimer shrugged and nodded, satisfied Doyle turned his attention to his oldest friend "Hows the wife?"

"She said that a family was brought into the hospital with human bite marks on them. Seems the Grandfather attacked them, he was a fireman at Bunker 17" She explained and took a bite from her Texas burger. "She wonders if there were some strange chemicals that might have caused induced madness, but other than that she is on her way home and heading for a bath...which is where I am going to be heading in a little while."

Mortimer smirked a little and took a bite from his Big Tasty "So, what do you guys think? Think we are ready to put this to bed?"

"I'd say so" Doyle stretched "We done what we were told to do. You know what, you and Bridget are off next week right?" Daryl nodded "So what say I collect Stasia and we all go on a vacation somewhere.." he nudged Mortimer "where they are girls for me and men for you"

Daryl laughed and Mortimer raised his hands "Sounds good to me, but regardless of the male eye candy just a break with good friends and a cute princess sounds good to me."

"I'll call Nicky tonight and arrange it. Would the Doc be up for that?"

Daryl nodded "Oh yes, I think we are all ready for it." She ate some more of her burger "I want to wipe that scene from my mind for as long as I can, thanks"

Mortimer looked out the window and watched the public walk past hurrying for their trains or cars or buses. In another hour it would be rush hour, and whilst the explosion at Bunker 17 had made national headlines for a few days, they now had the normal mundane thoughts in their heads. What would they have for dinner? Did the mortgage payment go out on time? Why did he or she argue about that?, these thoughts and a whole host of others.

Daryl was right though, after what they had seen down there, they all needed something to wipe the image of dead bodies and blood from their minds. He supposed he should have been used to such things, what with the job he did, but that...it had taken him three showers and a long hot bath to get rid of the smell of smoke and death from his body.

It didn't get rid of the sight of charred bodies, impaled and twisted pieces of bodies, headless bodies, that would remain with him for a while, if not for the rest of his life.

Bunker 17 was largely deserted now. The families had been informed and the small clean up team that remained had been charged with now, getting rid of any and all evidence that had remained and could implicate the government in any of this.

With the air now clear of whatever toxins and chemicals might have been in there white cloaked and armed men and women walked the destroyed halls with care and purpose. They knew there had been more here then was let on, but with such devastation around, it was only now, with it cleared and generated power on, could they access the computer files.

Whilst the boffins worked, the security force that accompanied them took shifts to ensure that their work was not interrupted. One of the guards, a woman in her late 30's, ex military and stone faced was patrolling the far offices. She checked every room, they had already caught a snooping press man on the grounds earlier, took his camera and told him to leave. The Pictures had been deleted and the camera returned to the paper the man belonged too with a warning phrased to the Editor in such a way, no more intrusions would occur.

She stepped into a designated smoking area and lit a cigarette. She had seen some places in her time that had hardened her to what had happened here. Still this place gave her the creeps, there was always something about an area that had been the scene of so much death and destruction that occasionally caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.

She would have to do a second circuit, find the boffin she had been assigned to and then food. She heard something move behind her and rolled her eyes.

"I told you Hank...I am not interested, you are not my type!"

With the noise gone she smirked to herself, Her partner had tried for days to get her to bed, but he wasn't her type, she liked her men to be feisty in life and in bed, not this modern man crap. She liked her men to be men and as nice as Hank was, he just wasn't her type and never would be,

She heard the noise again.

Nearer this time.

Angrily she span round her SMG raised "I told you to fuck..." the words died in her throat as the creature before her turned its bloody and burnt head in her direction. "What the..." she never finished.

The creature was on her and its teeth sunk into her neck, ripping, tearing at the flesh beneath. She tried to scream but her throat was torn out before she could and as her blood spurted from her mouth, the creature...undead...zombie passed its deadly virus onto her, so that when it had finished its meal, what was left of her, would rise again.

Her blood pooled out and her lifeless body jerked as the undead fed...an hour later, minus her throat, left breast and hand, she rose to her feet, the need to feed burning in her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

5.

The 19:07 train from Northampton to Euston started to pull into Watford Junction, already full with passengers heading home, some would not get home for another couple of hours, eager to get their connecting trains so they could sit in comfort.

One of the passengers that got on at Watford had an awful hacking cough, one that had some people move away, there had been a nasty bout of Flu around and no one really wanted to catch it. It was Friday and it was bank holiday weekend, no one wanted to be ill over the weekend, not when they had plans of going to the coast for the weekend, or across to the continent. The passenger was a young man, wearing a football shirt, and a pair of jeans. He was obviously off to watch his favourite team play. The couple of other men he had got on with steered him to an empty seat, so he could sit down.

"You sure you want to go Billy?" One of the men asked "You could go home and we'll watch it on the telly?"

He shook his head as another fit of coughing took him. He had made his mind up, he was not going to miss Mourinhos triumphant return to Chelsea, not now not ever, he had the weekend off work and he could stay in bed tomorrow, tonight was going to be his and his mates night.

He rested his head against the window, in half an hour he would be at Euston, then he would be on his way to the bridge, he had waited for this night for over a month. Just a cat nap and he would feel fine.

He didn't know where he had got this bug from, but it had come down pretty hard and fast. He rubbed his brow, the sweat was pouring off him and as he touched his nose, a trickle of blood stained his fingertips.

He closed his eyes again and drifted into the black void that would change everything.

The train came onto platform 7, the waiting people on the platform watched in shock as the stained red window glowed eerily in the twilight. A Station officer waved his hand and a couple of Transport police officers made their way over.

He showed them the state of the train, and the fact that no doors had opened yet. One of the officers spoke into her radio, her partner made his way towards the drivers cab, He didn't get a chance to open it, the door opened and the driver almost fell out of the cab pleading for help, eyes wide, hands bloodied, then before the officer could grab him, like something from a horror movie, the driver was yanked back into the cab and all that could be heard was the most awful screams.

Suddenly the doors opened and all the passengers that had twenty minutes ago been human, rushed out the doors and were on the waiting commuters.

"Shit! Fuck RUN!" The platform supervisor yelled, before he was brought down by a young woman, no older than 17, and his throat was torn open with all the savagery of a wild beast.

Euston became a death house, with each killing and cannibalistic murder, the dead rose and began to feed once more. They poured down the corridors and onto the tube system, killing, eating and creating more of them.

Death and destruction would rule


End file.
